<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Nowhere Man by Goldstein_1984</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672026">Nowhere Man</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstein_1984/pseuds/Goldstein_1984'>Goldstein_1984</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Patrick McGoohan, The Prisoner (1967)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Other, Patrick McGoohan - Freeform, british tv series, george markstein, the prisoner series</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:54:28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,177</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26672026</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldstein_1984/pseuds/Goldstein_1984</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"He had the first hint of something different going on when a man casually bumped into him. When he mumbled an excuse, the other man did nothing but look around with a slightly confused expression. Quizzical, Number Six nonetheless continued his way towards the beach. He sat at a table on which laid an old chessboard and waited, but no one ever turned up. In fact, everyone he tried to salute was suddenly distracted by someone else, was taken away by interesting activities of all kinds or genuinely passed by without a single glance. Everyone he tried to talk to ignored him with frank and almost frantic attempts to seem normal. Number Six decided to go along with it and ceased all interactions with other citizens; after all, this was still better than being constantly surveilled and questioned."</p><p>Number Six is very quizzical about his fellow citizens' strange behaviour.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. THE INVISIBLE MAN</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A new "The Prisoner" fanfic! Almost a one-shot since the chapters are very short. </p><p>All rights belong to their owner. I've only created the minor characters and story, the context is George Markstein's and Patrick McGoohan's.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He woke up like everyday in the Village, took a shower, worked out, ate, and decided to take a walk. Having not much to do, he wandered by the beach in case there would be some chess player looking for a partner. </p><p>He had the first hint of something different going on when a man casually bumped into him. When he mumbled an excuse, the other man did nothing but look around with a slightly confused expression. Quizzical, Number Six nonetheless continued his way towards the beach. He sat at a table on which laid an old chessboard and waited, but no one ever turned up. In fact, everyone he tried to salute was suddenly distracted by someone else, was taken away by interesting activities of all kinds or genuinely passed by without a single glance. Everyone he tried to talk to ignored him with frank and almost frantic attempts to seem normal. Number Six decided to go along with it and ceased all interactions with other citizens; after all, this was still better than being constantly surveilled and questioned.</p><p>He went to the general stores and bought a bottle of non-alcoholic whisky. Tired of waiting in line without being served, he slipped a couple of work units into the cash register and left without being looked at once. On his way back home, he was under the impression that an old man in a wheelchair known as Number Ten was staring at him. He met his pale, blue gaze and held his eyes upon him long enough to let the old man know he had seen him; but when he walked away, Number Ten’s eyes were still fixed on an invisible point right in front of him, exhausted and lost in the bright midday sun. </p><p>…</p><p>Later that day, Number Six decided to pay Number Two a short visit. They had met a week ago when the latter had been given his new position of authority, but apparently, he had been too busy exercising his functions to talk to Number Six personally. Subsequently, Number Six thought it would be best for him to be the first one to show up. However, when he gripped the knocker at the entrance of the green dome, the door remained unusually closed. Then, when he took a step aside, he was almost run-over by a man and a woman hurrying outside. He didn’t try to speak to them; they obviously hadn’t seen him, or pretended they hadn’t.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. NO CORPSE AT ALL</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He didn’t linger there and walked down an alley to the restaurant. Nearby, the graveyard looked more bustling than ever under the solemn vault of trees. Curious, he approached the modest assembly - and was far from being surprised when nobody seemed to notice him. However, something was wrong, genuinely wrong: a young woman he didn’t know was addressing the silent crowd the following  words: </p><p>“He surely was a quiet and solitary man, but he was far from being lonely. He always had several friends by his side, and I’m more than lucky to be one of them. Of course, he wasn’t always sympathetic...”</p><p>Through their tears, a few people at the front row let out a slight laughter. </p><p>“He sometimes happened to be quite grumpy… But we liked him despite that, and perhaps because of that. I’m sure that I can speak for you by saying that our love for Number Six will never be tarnished by time.”</p><p>He had never seen gatherings of any kind in terms of funeral in the Village, and even less his own funeral!</p><p>“Those events are so full of weeps and cries, I don’t like it”, uttered a voice close to him.</p><p>He turned around and faced a middle-aged woman with a coloured umbrella. Her face looked somewhat familiar, but he couldn’t put a name - or rather a number - on it. </p><p>“Who is it?” asked he without further introduction. “Who’s dead?” </p><p>“Number Six. It’s a man about my age, but I don’t know anything about him other than that.” </p><p>“I know him”, chuckled he. “It’s me.” </p><p>The woman didn’t look surprised in any way. </p><p>“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Number Six.”</p><p>He raised an eyebrow, looking at the scowling and mournful crowd. They had now begun to tell various anecdotic stories about his life in the Village - which, to his suspicious astonishment, were all true. </p><p>“Poor people”, sighed he dryly. “Manipulated into thinking a fellow citizen is dead, or acting like so. It’s a real pity.” </p><p>The woman glanced at him with true surprise on her face. </p><p>“So, you really think you’re not dead?”</p><p>“How could I be?” smiled he. </p><p>“Well, why do you think you can see me, and talk to me?” </p><p>For a dreadful instant, his heart and stomach twisted and he felt dizzy. He now clearly remembered who she was: Number Forty-Seven, whom he had seen in a casket just a week ago. She was dead; he had looked at the corpse and the wound upon his brow had repelled him. But there she was, standing in front of him, looking at him in concern and worry…</p><p>Of course she was there. She hadn’t died. She couldn’t have. As usual, this was just the machine working around him, with more naive cogs than others.  </p><p>“This is one of the most screwy jokes I’ve ever heard of”, said he calmly with a slight laughter. </p><p>“This isn’t a joke”, insisted Number Forty-Seven. “I’m dead serious.”</p><p>She smiled at him and tried to put a friendly hand on his arm, but he stepped back..</p><p>“This little chat was lovely, but I have things to do”, said he politely. “Be seeing you.”</p><p>Then, without waiting for her to respond, he headed off to his house. </p><p>“A polite man, who never refused a chess match”, said the voice of a man addressing the assembly. The sound faded behind him and he couldn’t hear what followed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The grass, although slightly wet, happened to work perfectly as a comfortable pillow. Number Six woke up with a headache, his eyelids unusually heavy and his mouth dry. Only then, he realized he wasn’t supposed to be laying there. He got up as quickly as he could, which was not very fast given how numb his muscles were. He knew too well he had been drugged and carried over there, and grumbled for having let them do that while he was asleep. But the real question was : why had they done so? He didn’t feel anything different, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t done anything… Watchful and vigilant , he stumbled a little before walking at a steady, fast pace towards his house.</p><p>On his way, two fellow citizens he didn’t know, a young man and an old lady, addressed him with a friendly glance and waved hello. He allowed himself to have the impoliteness not to respond. He bursted into his house and came face to face with a man. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” said they simultaneously, both shocked and confused. </p><p>“I live here”, uttered Number Six violently. “Now get out immediately.” </p><p>At his great surprise and annoyance, the other man merely shook his head and said with calm anger : </p><p>“You must be misinformed. I moved in two days ago, right after the former proprietary - Number Six, if I’m not mistaken - passed away.” </p><p>Again, the story was the same : he was dead in the eyes of everyone in this place, except that now, they could apparently see him. He might as well make the most of it; eager to gain his rights back, he raised his hand, ready to punch the other man in the face. However, the latter let out a light warning: </p><p>“Wo, be careful, young lady! Don’t do things you’d come to regret!”</p><p>Utterly staggered, Number Six blinked and looked at the man with stupefaction. He had been called a lot of things in his life, but “young lady” was not among them, especially not with this tone! He was feeling a little dazed, his muscles still weakened by the drugs, and had no energy to fight whatsoever. Therefore, he turned around and left the house, not without having addressed the man with a suspicious glare. </p><p>…<br/>
He wandered a little, not knowing whether to go see Number Two or to wait until he’d recover his strengths to fight again for the recovery of his house. He was still hesitating, gazing distractly at the beach, when he heard a voice behind him.</p><p>“Nineteen! Hey, Number Nineteen!” </p><p>He didn’t have to look around, for he knew there was nobody else than himself. There was no possible doubt that the man who had just spoken was talking to him.</p><p>“How are you?” said he, grinning. “May I walk you home?” </p><p>And before Number Six could say anything, he found himself entangled by the man in what was supposed to be a pleasant dialogue of some sort. They crossed a quiet street, moving away from the neighborhood. The man then led him to a cottage identified as the property of Number Nineteen. The door opened in front of them and the man sat in an armchair in the living-room. Number Six was startled and irritated by this distasteful familiarity. </p><p>“A new guy just moved in the next house”, said the man as Number Six was still standing suspiciously by the door. “He told me you were very nice and a lovely woman to have as a neighbor. Isn’t it nice of him?”</p><p>He chuckled lightly, leaning back into his chair. Number Six allowed himself a slight smile. </p><p>Tomorrow, the young lady would be revenged.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A QUIET REST</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>7h31 A.M. Number Two glanced at the camera, saw Number Six quietly sleeping, and then went back to work as he usually did early in the morning.</p><p>8h00 A.M. Instinctively, Number Two visited the surveillance room to check on his favourite citizen. He gasped in horror and his eyes widened when he found out he was completely absent from the cameras’ view. Number Two blinked twice, looking at the multiple screens in shock. It was the first time since his arrival in the Village that he witnessed the disappearance of a citizen from the map. Escaping was understandable; disappearing completely for more than an hour or two was far more surprising. It had now been over three full hours and Number Six was still missing. Number Two had sweat dripping from his brow and along his spine.</p><p>4h17 P.M. “What’s that?” growled Number Two, pointing a nervous finger towards Number Six’s - or rather, Number Nineteen’s - night table, as he just came back from the day’s second rummage of the whole island. A small piece of paper had been slipped underneath a lamp. Out of anger and mad of excitement, he took the sheet of paper with trembling fingers and read the note, made almost unreadable by the soaked water drops which probably were teardrops.</p><p>
  <em>“Dear fellow citizen who are reading this note, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am, in all conscience, aware that my life has come to a deadlock. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I </em>
  <em>thought that the Village would be a nice place to live in - perhaps it could finally bring me the safety I longed for all my life. But this is obviously not the case. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This world is a world for men, and for men only. Perhaps in the highest spheres of power, someone wants it like that. I do not know, and do not want to know. All my life, I have been eagerly searching for a life that I, in the end, was not allowed to live. You have to understand that the situation here is dreadful to me. And if you do not understand that, this will from now on be beyond my purview. I truly hope that, someday, the present Number Two will die with ache in his heart and guilt on his mind of having led a woman to such a horrible fate. I therefore announce you that I intend to commit suicide. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I do not think I have anything more to say. I wish you farewell and, if you are anyone else than Number Two, I hope from deep in my heart that you will live a better life than I did in the Village. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>By the time that you shall read these words, I will most certainly be dead. Y</em>
  <em>ou cannot imagine how a relief it is for me to think of that.”</em>
</p><p>Then, there were a few words that have been crossed out many times, probably because the writer hadn’t intended to write them but did machinally : “Be seeing you”. And the letter ended with the delicate signature of “Number Nineteen”.</p><p>9h00 P.M. Number Six attended the carrying of the corpse of Number Two from his hideout. He had always thought the man was far more empathetic than his previous homologues, but also emotionally unstable. He looked at the pale recumbent silhouette with blank eyes, thinking Number Two had paid the price in a very strange way. Perhaps you had to be a madman to exercise such power upon others.</p><p> </p><p>THE END</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think!!</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>